


Between the Moon and New York City

by FlavorofKylo



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: Christmas Time, Clyde Logan can get it, F/M, Flirting, New York City, No Smut, Sexual Tension, and lots of fluff, fluffy fluff, just thots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27633581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlavorofKylo/pseuds/FlavorofKylo
Summary: When reader arrives in NYC for the holidays, her plans for the first night fall through.  Luckily, she crosses paths with another out-of-towner who helps turn the night around.Happy Birthday to my dear friend and wonderful alpha reader, LadyofReylo!!Thank you for being a light shining through my darkness.❤
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Reader, Clyde Logan/You
Comments: 11
Kudos: 38





	Between the Moon and New York City

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyofreylo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofreylo/gifts).



> "Once in your life, you find her  
> Someone who turns your heart around  
> And next thing you know, you're closing down the town  
> Wake up and its still with you  
> Even though you left her way across town  
> Wondering to yourself, hey, what've I found?
> 
> If you get caught between the moon and New York City  
> I know it's crazy, but it's true  
> If you get caught between the moon and New York City  
> The best that you can do  
> the best that you can do  
> is fall in love."

After months of planning, you’re finally here: The Big Apple, the City that Never Sleeps. It's been a crazy year, with work and family, and now you want nothing more than to meet up with your old buddy Rose, just to kick back and have some fun. Rose has been living in New York since college and knew all the places to see. She had a whole itinerary worked out.

But of course, nothing goes as planned: you get a late text from Rose just after your plane touches down at JFK. She has to work late and won’t be able to meet you at the tree tonight, but she promises to make it up to you this weekend.

There was nothing to be done about it, so you sigh and accept your fate. As the cab makes its way through the midtown tunnel into Manhattan, you decide not to let this ruin your evening. You’ll go check out the tree by yourself. It can't be that tough to make your way around a city like Manhattan, right?

After dropping off your luggage at the hotel, you check google maps and find that that Rockefeller Plaza is only one stop away by subway, but why not walk? It’s a lovely night for December, not excessively cold, and the lights and the bustle of people put you in a festive mood as you make your way down Avenue of the Americas.

When you get to the corner of 50th Street, you turn and find yourself swallowed up by the throngs of people. The tree looms ahead of you, resplendent and mountainous. You trudge ahead, your attention focused so tightly on it that you see nothing else but—

Wham. Your body slams into an _actual_ mountain--a living, breathing mountain.

You look up, and he’s six-feet-something of sulky man meat, his plush lips puffed into a pout, eyes dark as midnight and roiling beneath his furrowed brow. His hair is dark and thick , curling below his collar, and looks like it might be made of silk.

“Ah, excuse me, Ma’am,” he drawls in a voice like warm molasses. Thick Southern accent. All you can do is stare up at him...up and UP. He's so fucking _big._

“Uh, I’m-I’m sorry,” you breathe, your usual eloquence unreachable at the moment.

“S’alright, Ma’am. I had no idea it would be this crowded. Jimmy warned me, but….” He shakes his head in dismay, eyes scanning the crowd. “And now I can’t even find the bastard.” He looks back at you. “Uh, sorry.  
”  
You’re immediately charmed by him...he's sweet and polite, obviously not a New Yorker, you think. Not with that accent.

Another tourist, just like yourself. 

“No worries,” you smile. “Where you from?”

“Boone County, West Virginia,” he offers proudly. “First time up here in the city. My brother and his girlfriend insisted on bringing me up here for my birthday.”

“Oh, it’s your birthday? Well, happy birthday!”

His face softens into a little smile. "Thanks. Actually, it was two weeks ago, but Jimmy wanted to come and see the tree. Name’s Clyde, what’s yours?”

You tell him and he nods. “You a New Yorker? You sure don't sound like one."

"Neither do you," you grin, and he chuckles. 

You tell him the short version of how you had planned this trip and how tonight was supposed to have gone differently. Clyde listens intently—you get the sense that everything he does is rather intense—and looks genuinely disappointed on your behalf.

“Aww, I’m sorry that happened, darlin’. Seems like we're kind of in the same boat right now.”

You huff a laugh; he's certainly right about that.

“Well, it may take me some time to find Jimmy and Sylvie. What do you say we navigate the chaos together? I’d rather be lost with someone I can talk to than lost alone.”

“That’s my thought exactly, Clyde. Sure, let's do it." 

The two of you move as slowly and carefully as possible, doing your best to stay together in the midst of the swelling crowd. Clyde stops and gawks at the tree ahead of you.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” you chirp, eyes lit up with the magic of it.

“Mmhm,” came Clyde’s terse response. “That’s one big damn tree.”

You chuckle. “Norway spruce. They bring one down every year from upstate New York.”

“Wonder how tall it is?”

“This one’s seventy-five feet. The first one they put up was in 1933. I was reading all about it on the plane."

“Huh,” Clyde says, riveted. “It’s weird to think about all the people that were around back then that are gone.” He nods slowly.

You bite your lip, your attention pulling away from the tree to the man beside you. You have the impression he's the type of guy a lot of people might brush off as simple, if for no other reason than his accent. But you can see clearly that there are some deep waters running below the handsome surface.

“Indeed. Come on, I want to get a couple photos.”

As the two of you dodge and weave through the crowd, you suddenly spot an opening to slip through and dart ahead. You don't get far before a warm hand lands on your shoulder to slow you. You turn quickly in surprise.

“Take my hand,” he says gruffly. “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

You nod. His hand engulfs yours, flooding you with warmth, and you feel it tingle all the way through you. Not surprisingly, you feel it even in your belly, the awareness of this lumberjack of a man beside you. Somehow, you know, he would keep you safe, take care of you no matter what. It's such a good feeling, rare and sweet.

Clyde waits patiently as you snap several photos of the tree. When you finish, you hand him the camera and he scoots down to take a few selfies with you. He's like a big bear, but his eyes are soft as he smiles into the camera with you. 

As you put your phone away, he glances back at you with eyebrows raised. “Where to next?”

The pair of you wander briefly through the maze of stores in Rockefeller Plaza, before deciding the sheer volume of people make your steps feel more like a chore than anything else. So you drift back to Sixth Avenue where the crowd thins out. 

As the two of you walk--in no hurry, with no particular place to go--Clyde tells you about his bar, Duck Tape. He's disarmingly humble about it, but you're unconvinced. 

"It's not a small thing to run your own business," you say. "It takes dedication and focus."

Clyde shrugs it off. "It's hard work, for sure. But I enjoy it. And I'm good at what I do."

You tell him about your job, and your family back home in Michigan. How you love to travel but haven't had the chance to do it much. He's a good listener, patient, giving you his full attention. 

"Inneresting that we both ended up here at the same time, ain't it?" he says softly, eyes on yours. 

You smile. "It is. You know what they say, there are no accidents."

He chuckles, seemingly a little embarrassed and you have the sudden urge to kiss him. But you don't. 

Not yet.

A short time later, the two of you are sitting in a cozy cafe on Seventh Avenue since you've both decided you needed something to warm you up. 

As Clyde looks over the menu intently, you have to force yourself not to stare . He's one of those men who clearly doesn't realize how handsome he is, which only makes him more appealing. 

The two of you order drinks, a beer for Clyde, red wine for you. You decide to share a Pizza Margherita, because Clyde can't get with anchovies, mushrooms or--god forbid--pineapple. When the waiter leaves you glance at his mechanical arm. 

"Did you lose your arm in the service, Clyde?"

His throat bobs and he nods, suddenly solemn again. "Yep. Two tours of Iraq." 

You're moved. He seems so gentle, it's hard to imagine him with a gun in his hand. For a moment you're not sure what to say. 

"Well, thank you for your service."

Clyde meets your eyes and nods again. You offer him your hand across the table and he takes it with a little smile. Again, you're overwhelmed by the warmth that passes between your bodies when your skin touches his. Suddenly, you're thinking about lying underneath him. 

"Do you have a woman back home, Clyde?"

"No. Been single awhile," he shrugs. "M'not exactly a catch," he barks.

You're stunned. How could he think that?

"I disagree," you tell him. "You're sweet, and kind. Strong. Not to mention awfully sexy."

He blushes, averting his eyes, and your heart flutters. When his eyes meet yours again, they're darkened by something new. 

_Desire,_ you think.

"I'm really glad I bumped into you," he says, voice low and gravelly. "This night's turning out much better than I expected."

You sigh, anticipation building in your belly. You want to hold this man, feel his lips on yours. You want to tell him all your secrets, knowing he'd keep them safe. You want to lie beside him in bed, curled up against him. You want to feel his hot breath on your neck before he makes love to you. 

"Yeah, me too," you agree. 

He smirks. "There are no accidents, right?"

fin

**Author's Note:**

> "Arthur's Theme (Best That You Can Do)," Burt Bacharach, Christopher Cross, Carol Bayer-Sager, Peter Allen. From the movie "Arthur," 1981.


End file.
